The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche (441 page)

“Splendid!” said Wake. If old Renny wanted to talk dog, then dog it should be.

The others fell in with this. The conversation turned to the normal and agreeable channel of stables and kennel. But there was a dreamy undertone to it. Wakefield’s return to the fold, Finch’s recovery, the advent of Harriet Archer and her engagement to Ernest, Alayne’s reconciliation to Renny, the birth of her son; all these changes and readjustments made themselves felt in subtle inflections of the voice, in swift interchange of glances. The dark cords of kinship which bound them inexorably together, vibrated with renewed strength. The continuity was absolute. With purged simplicity they found satisfaction in every detail of each other’s expressions and words.

When the others went to the drawing room Renny remained for a little behind. Merlin had lain close to his feet during the dinner. Now he rose, stretched himself and raised his muzzle questioningly to his master. Renny went to the portrait of his grandmother and looked at it reflectively. Then he stepped on the rung of a chair so that his face was on a level with hers. He pressed his lips to the picture and said:

“It’s all right, old lady. Everything’s going fine.”

THE END

AT JALNA

R
ENNY
W
HITEOAK HAD
done well to provide himself against the weather for, though it was now March, the wind was as icy as in winter and it needed his rubber boots to keep out the icy slush of the road. He had thrust his bare hands into his pockets, pulled a battered felt hat over his eyes, and drawn his chin into the shelter of his coat collar, so that the only parts of him exposed to the elements were his ears, which were somewhat pointed, and his bony, aquiline nose. The wind and the sleet did their worst to these so that his ears were whipped to a bright red. His nose, however, showed an invincible defiance and looked only a little more weather-beaten than usual.

He walked with bent head, in a state of almost ecstatic concentration, so that the time it took him to walk from his own stable to his brother Piers’s house might be estimated as a few moments or half a lifetime. His mind was concentrated on one problem — should he respond to Wakefield’s cablegram, and to another which he had received from his cousin Dermot Court, or should he not? Common sense and a keen sense of duty told him no. But what were they compared to the wild clamour that shook his soul when the idea of acquiring a grand new horse possessed it? If an observer watching his progress along the country road could have looked at the same time into his mind he would have seen there a strange conglomeration of shapes, a strange and antagonistic medley of shapes — the shape of a bankbook, the outline of a wife’s accusing face, a steamship ploughing across the sea, innumerable hurdles and hedges over which flew, in hypnotic leapings, the shape of the unknown horse.

He was so intent that he had overtaken two small boys before he saw them. They belonged to his brother Piers and were on their way home after their day at a school in the town. It was a long walk from the railway station and the younger, Nook, looked tired. He was barely nine. Renny took his hand and remarked: —

“Drifts too high for the car, eh? That’s why I’m walking, too.”

Nook nodded. “Mummie says she’s never known such a March and she’s lived a long time.”

“Not nearly so long as I, and I’ve never seen such a one. But it’s still early in the month. Any day you will wake to find a warm sun and the snow going off in a hurry. Is your father at home?”

“I don’t know.”

“Of course you don’t. That was a damned silly question, but then I’m in a damned silly mood.” He grinned down at them. “What’s the matter, Mooey? Haven’t you anything to say for yourself?”

“Not specially, except that I have a blister on my heel and I think one of my toes is frozen and I’m hungry.” Being tired and somewhat disgruntled, he added — “I’ll bet there’s something for dinner I don’t like.”

“I’ll bet,” said Nook, “that Philip has taken my train apart. I just had it on my birthday but it doesn’t matter!”

“He smashes all my things,” said Mooey. “But it doesn’t matter.”

“What a pair of grousers! Here we are! We’ll go in and find what damage is done.”

The house was of wood, painted white with green shutters, pointed gables, and long sloping roof. Though it was nearly a hundred years old it had a spruce, youthful appearance. In summer it was surrounded by a charming old-fashioned garden, but at this time of year it looked rather bare. The two boys darted ahead and threw open the door. Renny could hear them heralding his approach at the top of their voices.

His sister-in-law, Pheasant, slender, brown-haired and brown-eyed came eagerly down the stairs to meet him.

“How nice of you to come! It’s been such a dull day. Wind and rain and sleet. I’ve lived a good many years and I’ve never known such a March.”

“So your boys were telling me,” He touched her cheek with his cold one and asked — “Where’s Piers? They told me at the stables he’d come home and of course the phone’s out of order.”

“He hasn’t come. But probably he soon will.”

Her youngest son, Philip, came prancing in from the kitchen. He wore a toy leather harness with bells and was eating a rosy apple. He was six years old, fair-haired, pink-cheeked, with bright blue eyes. His eyes still had the wonder of the cradle in them but he carried himself with an air of purpose and even pugnacity. He demanded at once: —

“Have you brought the lollipops you promised me, Uncle Renny?”

Renny pulled a wry face. “I’ve forgotten them! But I’ll buy them tomorrow and send them by your dad. I promise you.”

“Has Philip played with my train?” Nook asked of his mother.

“Yes,” answered Philip for himself. “I did play with your train and the funnel came off.”

Nook waited to hear no more. He fled from the room and up the stairs to investigate the damage for himself.

“What I go through with these boys” exclaimed Pheasant. “Nook values his things so, yet he leaves them about where Philip can get them.”

“You can’t hide away a locomotive like you can a thimble,” said Mooey, sternly.

Philip was astride of Renny’s knee, taking small quick bites of the red apple. “I busted it but it wasn’t my fault,” he said. He gave a shout of joy. “Here comes Daddy!”

Piers came in, shining in oilskins and his own fresh complexion. At sight of him Renny’s face assumed a look of great gravity. He fixed his brilliant brown gaze on his Brother’s face.

“I have had a most important cable,” he said.

Piers stared. “Who from? The boys? Is anything wrong?”

“Yes. From Wakefield. Nothing wrong. It’s about a horse.”

“My God!” said Piers. He went out into the hall and removed his wet outer garments.

Pheasant looked uncomfortable. Renny joggled the child on his knee and whistled softly between his teeth. In a moment he said: —

“That was silly of Piers, Surely he doesn’t imagine that I will do anything without due consideration.”

“He thinks you are impulsive where horses are concerned.”

of defence, but he knew he was not proof against Renny’s urge to buy a horse. He said: —

“May I read the cablegram?”

Renny handed it to him.

“Certainly,” said Piers, “Wake has gone to a lot of trouble to make this animal sound enticing. But Malahide! Surely you wouldn’t trust him!”

“I’ve had another cable. It’s from Cousin Dermot. Read it.” He fished it from a pocket and gave it to Piers, who passed both on to Pheasant.

“How thrilling!” she exclaimed, “Of course you’ll buy him!”

Renny beamed at her. “You think I ought?”

“Well — it seems a marvelous opportunity.”

Piers struck his fist on the table. “
Never
— never without seeing him first! You’ll have to go over. No — you can’t possibly — it will make the horse too damned expensive. Upon my word, I think it’s a harebrained scheme. Neither Finch nor Wake is capable of judging a horse. And how do you know what Malahide or that old Dermot Court has up his sleeve? It may be a put-up job to fleece you.”

“On Malahide’s part it might. On Cousin Dermot’s, never. He’s a grand old boy. I absolutely trust him. Both as a judge of horses and as a kinsman.”

“I do love to hear you use that old-fashioned word!” cried Pheasant. “It might be your grandmother speaking.”

“If Gran were here,” said Piers, “she’d counsel you not to take such a risk. Just think! Either you buy this horse without seeing him or you take an expensive journey to see him —”

“I shall cross tourist —”

“I can picture
you
doing that!”

“You’re not denying that I can be economical, are you?”

“In some ways you can be as close as bark to a tree.”

“
What?
”

Renny’s colour rose. He stared hard at Piers.

“I only mean —”

“Well — go on.”

“You know yourself that you won’t buy the new farm implements we need.”

“I know that the old ones are adequate.”

“You are the only one who thinks so.”

Pheasant’s pacifying voice broke in. “Surely if Renny trusts Cousin Dermot’s judgment and thinks well of Wake’s —”

“I do indeed.”

“Then surely it’s worth considering. If the horse should win the Grand National, Renny could sell him for a stupendous sum. It may be a gamble, but what a glorious one!”

“Piers would prefer,” said Renny, “that I should take any extra money I have for farm implements, in order that he can make a few dollars extra on the crops — which I don’t believe he could,”

“I could do with less hired help.”

“If I win the Grand National,” said Renny, “I’ll buy you anything you want.”

“Thanks.” Piers gave an unbelieving laugh.

“Then you are dead against the project?”

“No. I’m not. I’m keen about it. But — I think the risks are too great. You would have to depend on other people to superintend the training. Then you’d make a second trip across the ocean to see the race. You’d want to see your horse win, wouldn’t you?”

His elder brother had listened to him with the colour deepening in his already high-coloured face. Now he tilted Philip from his knee and rose in anger to his feet. He strode up and down the room.

“Am I,” he asked passionately, “to spend the rest of my days at Jalna and never go anywhere? Am I to rusticate here like a vegetable? I tell you I’ve got to have a change!”

“I never get a change,” said Piers, doggedly.

“You never want one.”

“How do you know?”

“You’re welcome to go anywhere at any time you want. Why, you were in Montreal just before Christmas, about that consignment of apples!”

“You were all over the place during the polo season.”

“Yes,” returned Renny bitterly, “and generally came back with a pulled tendon or a broken collarbone!”

“You did that just once! Also, you rode in the New York Horse Show.”

Renny’s tone was almost plaintive. “Yes, and got a flu germ that laid me up for a fortnight! I can tell you that I made up my mind months ago to go to Ireland this spring to see my Cousin Dermot. I visited his father, old Dermot, in 1919. I’ve always promised myself I’d go back. Now the son is an old man and if I delay it may be too late. He must be nearly eighty.”

“Oh,” cried Pheasant, “I do think you ought to go!”

The passion in his eyes melted to an enfolding warmth as he looked at her.

“Do you really?” he asked.

“Yes. I do.”

Philip shouted — “Go to Ireland and buy the horse!”

His uncle picked him up, hugged him, and gave him a kiss. He said: —

“If I do go I’ll buy you a present. Choose whatever you like.” Renny then turned to Piers. “Well, what do you say?” he asked.

Piers’s bright blue eyes smiled up at him.

“Well,” he said, “if you’re going over in any case, you might as well drop in and have a look at the nag.”

“You know,” said Renny to Pheasant, “I think it’s damned disagreeable of Piers to be sarcastic about this.”